


Diplomatic Affairs

by ehstistential (TheArchein)



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Sex, Enemies to Still Enemies, Hate Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Screw casual sex we're going competitive, This isn't how politics work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28848327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchein/pseuds/ehstistential
Summary: There has been little love lost in the struggles between the Mantis Tribe and the Kingdom of Hallownest. The mantids, proud as they might be in their valiant defiance, strain under the vise of Deepnest and their Pale foe. Yet the Pale King, knowing what loss of life might befall his people, too understands the folly in trying to annex the bellicose group. Thus, to ensure some peace, the Mantis Lords and the Pale Court agree to hold a joint meeting of hopeful diplomacy.Sometimes, though, politics can get quite...messy.
Relationships: The Pale King/Traitor Lord (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Diplomatic Affairs

**Author's Note:**

> This is not something I typically do, but I thought I'd entertain writing something saucy.

It was difficult to describe what was more asphyxiating: the atmosphere of the basin, or the tension between the two entourages.

The king had only offered a meager bow of his crowned head at the sight of the lord; the lord declined to return the gesture.

The two knew well how fraught tensions were between their peoples. A joint session of their leaders seemed the only reasonable manner in which to allay further direct conflict. Yet even the addresses to their citizens detailing the semantics of the meeting were full of tribalistic fervor and ripe with ridicule for their adversary.

It had been one thing for the monarchs to prepare for the encounter; it was another to come face to face with their enemy.

A silence hung in the dark of the basin as the king directed the group to his palace. The eyes of the quick-clawed warriors carefully watched each motion of the Kingsmould. The void-constructs, in turn, clutched their barbed blades close with discipline. A flinch from either side was bound to spell disaster.

Alas, the white, pale brightness of the palace brought a sense of reprieve from both sides. The king waved his king’s guard aside, the lord, his warriors.

Through the six-winged, crowned archway walked the Pale King and the Mantis Lord into the palace complex.

Conflict had been averted—for the time being.

Forward did the Pale King lead the two of them, his sleeved arms folded behind his back. The tapping of his two feet accompanied the slithering drag of his abdomen, a vestige of his former self now cloaked beneath his pale grey robes.

The Mantis Lord walked slowly to keep in stride with his counterpart, though persistently remained a pace ahead the king. He bore a striking resemblance to his sisters, though held dimorphic differences. Darker chitin. Two prongs on each horn. An abdomen that flowed flush into his thorax. A claw, serrated down to its elbow, reached up to fix the still-damp cloth of his cloak.

“May I ask you how the trip fared?” asked the wyrm, attempting to break the stillness between them.

“Wet,” remarked the Lord, rather bluntly.

His claw pulled back from its near obsessive combing of the garment, dripping with expelled moisture.

“Last I recalled, our tram serviced the eastern fringes of Deepnest,” shrugged the king. “Even our plentiful Stag Stations would have provided sufficient service for your needs.”

The Lord scoffed at the veiled slight.

“Flattering. Arduous as the trip was, I’d rather take my risk with some rain over the savage nature of my neighbors, all for the sake of _your_ trams,” responded the mantid.

In truth, the Mantis Lord’s journey served ulterior motives. His sanctioned trip through the Pilgrim’s Way and straight through the City of Tears was meant to send a message: Behold, here in the heart of Hallownest’s empire, could the fierce mantids draw the quivering eyes of the false king’s most loyal denizens.

The mere thought of it drew a smile from his hidden mouth.

“So then,” resumed the king, “I was right in presuming you would come from your village. Instead, that is, from the gardens of my queen.”

The Mantis Lord kept quiet; their ventral smile disappeared.

“In keeping to formalities, do you prefer I call you ‘Mantis Lord’? Or does _‘Traitor_ Lord’ suffice? I mean no offense, of course.”

The lord glanced his head slightly to the right, looking down to the other. Though shorter than his sisters, the mantis still held a head or so above the prongs of the king’s crown.

“Worry not, I did not expect much from false royalty nevertheless,” retorted the mantis with a clenched tongue, doing his best to avoid expelling further emotion.

The spat between the Lords had been resolved in the larger scope of holding off against their imperialist enemy. Yet, the marks of fourth lord were still evident in his temporary self-exile to the Queen’s Gardens.

“’Mantis Lord’ is quite enough. You may denote me as ‘the Fourth’ in whatever written agreements we may come to. Other than that, I advise keeping hold of your tongue.”

The Pale King raised a brow.

Rather bold a remark it was for a mortal to give to a Higher Being. Still, the wyrm kept to formalities as he guided the lord past the ornately decorated windows adorning the atrium and towards the empty, silver halls of the palace interior.

“One would think an action like that defeats the entire purpose of this meeting. I did invite you into my home for dialogue, after all,” cheekily remarked the king.

“Ah, yes, after countless intrusions into my own,” swiftly, though softly chided the lord.

Another quiet fell between them. Only now did the Mantis Lord realize the scope of the palace. Corridors stretched into the beyond; from the atrium could he see walls scaling immense heights. Familiar, white roots and branches sprouted from the complex’s silver-hued metal. It seemed like a building of impossible craft.

“Was there a reason as to why your fellow lords declined my request?” asked the wyrm, interrupting the other’s sightseeing. “I would have expected at least two in such an important matter.”

“Am I not enough?” challenged the Fourth, though was quick to dismiss his attitude. “I’m certain you know quite well why. Better to have any risk fall on me than them.”

A brief pause came from the mantis as he contemplated his words.

“Though, should something happen to me, my sisters will be quick to respond in kind.”

A coup d'œil was cast from the white monarch, his eyes briefly studying the rival leader.

“In essence, ‘disposable’, then,” remarked the king.

“Not entirely,” the lord responded, “I merely work better in confined spaces.”

The mantis grinned, his claw lifting from under his cloak.

“I can kill my foes _without_ a weapon.”

A scowl fell across the king’s eyes. The threat was _not_ taken lightly.

Lord or not, the mantis was beyond pushing his limits.

The king quickly jerked to his left, cutting the mantis off—much to their ire. His hands drew from his sleeves, a white palm touching the Hallownest seal encrusted upon a nearby door. At once, the metallic door opened for its king, revealing the opulent guest room within.

Cushioned furniture. Gilded mirrors. Lumifly lanterns. Draping vines. A bed that easily dwarfed the lord. It far outclassed anything the mantis had ever seen. Yet his fascination remained outwardly muted.

“Your accommodations,” muttered the king, disdain gripping his tone. “Should you request, one of my retainers can take care of your wet rags.”

Like a demagogue bolstered by the reactions to their inflammatory remarks, a foolish daring surged within the mantis.

“No need,” smirked the lord, “After all, I’m certain it’s a job more befitting for the likes of you, yes?”

With little shame did the mantis remove his garb, holding the garment towards the king.

“Your _Highness.”_

The Pale King glowered at the other.

“I intentionally ignored your previous statement, _mantis_ , but you are _testing my patience_.”

“It is Mantis _Lord,”_ sneered the Fourth, his head craning down.

“To your _sisters_ , perhaps,” retorted the king in his stern tone, “Though I _doubt_ your kind’s barbarism ends with _you.”_

A roiling anger simmered within the lord; a bitter glare shot the king’s way.

“At least their _physiques_ would give me something nice to look at. A _pity_ I could not have entertained the evening with _them,_ ” the Pale King spitefully continued.

A slap of shock struck the mantis, staring wide-eyed at the monarch. The dangling garment fell from his claw to the ground.

 _“You lecherous grub,”_ hissed the lord.

“I do _not_ need lessons in morality from a kin traitor,” the Pale King insulted back, snuffing away what sliver of decency remained. “Or perhaps you fled out of your own _shame.”_

“Your _wife_ would say otherwise,” growled the mantis, taking a step closer to the king, his ventral mouth cracking a large smile.

The Pale King planted his foot forward, jabbing it against the discarded cloak of the lord.

“I would have your _head,_ but we both know its fat _tongue_ would make the ordeal all the less satisfying,” mocked the king, threat and inuendo tied into one, as a finger of his lifted to taunt the other.

Instinctively, a claw flinched at the other’s hand—though it was swiftly grabbed in the wyrm’s palm. The lord’s glaring gaze fell on the king; a similar look was returned.

The once-averted conflict had violently returned.

The Pale King shoved the mantid’s claw back, his other arm striking a vicious blow to the lord’s thorax. The Mantis Lord coughed, reeling back from the surprising strength of the hit. A moment was taken to keel over the foot of the bed. Raising his head up, he only caught a glimpse of the king’s face as the ruler of Hallownest lunged their entire weight against the mantis. The two were tossed atop the padding of the bed, their close combat tearing at the sheets. The brief struggle that ensued resulted in the king planting himself atop the mantid’s mesothorax, his pale hands clenched against jerking claws.

“Give me… _one_ reason I do not execute you _myself_ ,” snarled the king, a hostile rumble to his voice.

Any ounce of preparation the lord once had was destroyed in a near instance. A push too many, a threat too much; and here, the lord struggled under the godly, threatening power of the king.

And somehow, even _that_ failed to knock sense into him.

“I’m sure…the _queen_ …would _sorely_ miss me,” grinned the struggling lord.

“ _FINE,”_ the Pale King barked, shoving the other’s claws to the bed.

His white hands jerked back and clasped the folds of his grey robe. In a swift motion, the king tossed the garment off his figure. Like a delicate curtain did it fall behind the foot of the bed, its soft impact silencing the room. There, the pale-hued body of the king sat atop the lord in its full glory.

Thin framed. Marble white. Each segment sculpted to perfection. The Higher Being had been meticulous in his reincarnation, it seemed.

His white legs straddled the sleek, lapis blue upper abdomen of the mantis. The snowy-hued, tip-like feet of the king jabbed against the upper thighs of the mantid’s black legs to further stifle his foe’s movement. The wyrm’s abdomen, a tail-like appendage, pressed flush with that of the lord. The Pale King shoved his head back down above the thorax of the Mantis Lord, his pitch-black eyes staring bitterly into his adversary’s.

 _“If you so pride yourself in that affair, I’m certain you will not mind another,”_ grumbled the low voice of the wyrm.

Speechlessness. The quick-clawed lord, so swift on his tongue, was stunned silent. A rival monarch—the greatest threat to his people—now fixed his naked figure against his body. And having foregone the promise of one nail, the king now threatened him with another.

If that were the challenge the Mantis Lord was given, that was the challenge he would _take._

“Don’t give yourself that credit, _pretender,”_ snidely hissed the mantis, “a few seconds is _hardly_ an affair.”

A cold look was the only response received. The clawed warrior could feel its biting touch gnaw against his face. Where the eyes of the snowy-hued king drilled a chilling hate, his abdomen, however, offered warmth.

The mantis sensed a sliding heat against his upper abdomen. It slithered up several inches, its fleshy touch grinding against his firm chitin. He could feel the gentle rub of the pale one’s tail against his smothered, lower abdomen.

The tip of the king’s tail kissed at the tip of the lord’s own. It was met, in turn, with the hidden, pink head of the mantid’s cock. Another soft grind. Another inch. Further did he continue, until the air of freedom tickled even the base of the Mantis Lord’s soft, wet length.

The Pale King raised his tail. His leg kicked against the Mantis Lord’s thigh. The lord, scowl on his face, flinched the tip of his abdomen up. It continued to curl forward, following the length of the wyrm’s tail. A slick trail of fluid began to coat the underside of the Pale King’s abdomen as the mantid’s _nail_ slid further up.

A pause.

The Mantis Lord could feel it. The Pale King certainly did too. Between the king’s legs, below the base of his tail, the tapered tip of the lord dipped against a divot.

The mantis glanced down. Past the whitish pink hue of the king’s shaft, at the end of his folded abdomen, he could feel the hole. A burning, scarlet touch had singed against the mantid’s face; already he was straining to keep his composure in the face of his pale foe.

A flinch.

Receptive eyes darted back to the king’s face. The Mantis Lord had just made it out, brief as it was. The Pale King had flinched. So, it seemed even the king struggled.

With predatory instinct did the mantis latch onto the opportunity. A thrust came from his folded abdomen against the base of the king’s tail. A forceful shove, and the narrow head of the mantid’s length dug into the depths of the wyrm.

The Pale King gasped. Air hissed into his mouth at the burrowing sensation. He could feel the tip dig deeper, its pointed head rubbing against the minute folds of the wyrm’s cavity. A flush of color broke the cold, stone-faced look of the king. The lord’s nail had pierced his foe.

_And the king loved it._

As the lord began to pull the length partly out, the wyrm slammed his thighs back down. The mantid’s leg jerked at the sudden movement. A pant slipped from the lord’s mouth—from the king, a soft moan. Another attempt to pull his blue-toned abdomen back. And again, another shove down.

The eyes of the two once more fell upon each other, locked in a perturbing mix of irritated bitterness and carnal passion. Even the act of intimacy had become a heated battleground.

Abdomen in its compromised position, the Mantis Lord struggled to plant his feet against the folds of the silk and linen below. His raptorial claws dug against the fabric as his body jerked from the king’s press. A tingling touch tickled his mind at the wyrm’s thrust back down. From the base of his pink length did it burn and brighten through his carapace, up to the back of his blue head. Its tantalizing sensation drew out droplets of fluid from the mantis, his horned head craning slightly forward.

The white claws of the king pushed down against the wriggling movements of the lord. His left hand clenched around the mantid’s claw; his right clutched between the plates of the other’s carapace. Eyes squinted tightly, faltering in their glare. Even the assertive tone of the king had been whittled down to nothing but soft pants and meager moans. A small pool of white, wispy fluid upon the mantis, brimming with Soul, rippled at the vibration of each thrust.

The Pale King’s movements began to slow—in their place, the vigorous pump of the Mantis Lord accelerated. The lustful sear within him swelled throughout his mind with a near blinding radiance. Droplets spilled inside of the king; his body demanded a torrential release. Huffs from the lord interlaced a sensual hiss from his throat. More. _More._

Faster.

_Faster._

The hunger for a climax. A crumbling look to the king. The lord wanted this—he _needed_ this. The king wanted this.

The Fourth knew it. He craved it. It would benefit him. It would benefit the king.

_—it would benefit the king._

A malicious jerk from the lord. His abdomen yanked back; his length pulled out. The Pale King gasped, and in frantic desperation tried to contain the errant lord back inside.

And then he felt it. A warm spurt of fluid coating the underside of his tail. Another rope spilt, further down his tail. A stare of disbelief; the king had been robbed. Robbed of the throbbing warmth within his tail. Robbed of the filling jets within his rear.

_Robbed by the mantis himself._

A fuming expression met the eyes of the lord. The Pale King could see it: a smug, vindictive look behind the panting, flush façade of the lord.

The wyrm lifted his tail. Immediately did the curled-up abdomen of the mantis unfurl, resting its shaky shell upon the soft bed. Its end, once bulbously throbbing and brimming with seed, now laid spent upon the linen. The king stood upon the bed, legs to each side the lord’s slim abdomen.

“What a pity, pretender,” singsonged the drained mantis, his head leaning back to offer a pretentious smirk.

The king moved forward, his hostile glare only fueling the lord’s biting glee. A sigh came from the mantis as the wyrm knelt against his upper thorax.

“Is this really your response, dear fraud?” tauntingly reproached the Mantis Lord, his eyes closing as he shook his head. “Rebuking me for your inability to—GLKHG—”

The mantid’s eyes snapped open. Something had stifled his condescending lip. Something had plunged its way into his mouth. Yet only the white of the king’s groin did he see before him.

It didn’t take much to ascertain his circumstance.

The Pale King shivered slightly. Oh how much better did that feel. The touch of the slick mantid tongue against his hardened rod, the lord’s mouth tightly closed against the intruding length. The hum of confused interjections vibrating his cock. _And_ the satisfying silence of the insufferable mantis.

Perhaps their fat tongue would be of some use.

Another brief, albeit muffled, utterance came from the vexed and flummoxed lord. He had no problem breathing; the spiracles between each segment of his carapace ensured that. It was due to the rather undignified and unprompted act the king had taken. All the same, his tongue had already begun to entertain the hardened, fleshy mass.

It slid against the side of the cock. Its wet, muscly touch pressed against the subtle ridges. It slipped down and dragged up, stroking the wyrm’s sensitive underside. A shudder from the king. A trickle of fluid seeped from the tip; the mantis could taste a stark difference from familiarity. Slightly invigorating—a shame it came from such a degenerate bug.

The Pale King hunched forward slightly, complexion mellowing at the tender sensation. A white hand reached out, taking a soft hold of the Mantis Lord’s dark teal horn. The king stroked it gently with his palm, as if to commend the work of the lesser bug. The lord’s eyes cast up, meeting the affectionate look of the king.

Then came the sharp glint in the wyrm’s eye.

The stroking, marble claw gripped edge of the lord’s horn. With a firm shove, the Pale King drove Mantis Lord’s face flush to his abdomen. A choking cough gripped the lord’s throat. He glowered up, yet his eyes were prompted towards the slit of the king. Though hidden before, the wyrm decided to entertain a secret of his with this ill-tempered adversary.

_The sharp tip of another nail._

The hemipened wyrm rejoiced in the bewilderment of the mantis. Enraptured with pent arousal, the white of its shaft took little time in meeting the soft peach of the mantid’s face. A burst of newfound hunger gnawed at the Pale King, his clutch tightening against the dignitary’s head. His crowned head dipped, pink searing the cheeks of his mask. The sweating palm of his free, right hand clasped the Mantis Lord’s collar. Knees stiffened; his legs stressed tightly. The pressure of dual pleasure demanded an escape.

A final tug secured the lord’s mouth against the king. Synchronous bursts from the coming wyrm both coated the back of mantid’s throat and colored his royal head with slick, Soulful fluid. Weary breaths puffed from the king; the mantis himself gulped slowly. Only now could the lord pull back, his nape falling against the soft hold of a pillow.

Faint huffs panted between the messy duo. A fatigue settled between them; there was little strength left to quarrel, little strength left to bicker. The Mantis Lord could barely lay eyes on the king—it had been an even match, had it not? So why did he feel the loser? Another small, trailing gulp followed.

The Pale King remained motionless, save for his own exhale of hot breath. A few moments were taken to admire his work. It seemed fitting—the mantis had, after all, marked the gardens first. Suffice to say, his own mark upon the lord seemed much more appealing.

Recouping lost stamina, the wyrm pulled his leg over the mantid’s thorax. His feet slid over the warm silk of the bed, resting against the cool ground. He stood up and walked past the foot of the bed. His tail, slickly coated with a now dried layer of fluid, dragged behind him. The Pale King knelt, picking up the discarded cloth of his robe, and placed the garment over his arm. Soft taps followed him as he reached the door. A hand pressed against its face, and once more did it open.

The king paused, taking a second to barely glance over his shoulder.

“We are to meet midday tomorrow. Do try not to keep us waiting.”

And with that, the king exited, the seal-encrusted door closing behind him.

A loud, miffed groan bellowed from the lord. He shook his head, grimacing at what had transpired; to think, he had let that…that pretender, that sham in his mouth! Where was the defiance? The strength of the mantis? How did he expect to exemplify the image of a powerful leader in front of the false royals after that?

But no. No, no, he had triumphed, of course he had! He had defiled false royalty! Certainly he had prevailed atop…yes? Perhaps he was fine—perhaps. As long as his sisters didn’t know.

A muttered hiss drew from his throat.

Tomorrow was to be a tiring day.


End file.
